


Thaw

by orphan_account



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Speed Skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5405192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He squeezes their palms together as he runs his cool lips up Jack’s jaw to the shell of his ear and whispers, 'This okay?'"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thaw

**__**

# **_Heat 1_**

  
Eric Richard Bittle, eighteen years old and the youngest competitor in his event, sets a world record in his first quarterfinal heat. His first Olympic event, and he shatters his own personal best by nearly two tenths of a second.

No one is surprised when he wins the Americans gold in the 500 meter final with the exception of Bittle himself. Bittle’s crying on the podium while Jack’s teammate Justin blinks down at him and pats his shoulder with bemusement from the silver stand.

There had been whispers about Bittle among coaches and recruiters since the day he’d turned sixteen, but since advertising for the Sochi Olympics began, he’s become an overnight celebrity. Even if people weren’t already paying attention to the event where Bad Bob Zimmermann’s son was hoping to make his comeback, they’d have flocked to see the sweet Georgia boy with his video blog and his doe eyes wipe the floor with men ten years his senior.

He’s built like a coiled spring: compact but powerful. He’s a born sprinter, and with Kent already on Team USA, Jack had been surprised they’d even recruited Bittle so young. The American coach was smart, though, to bump Kent up to their longer races. 

Parson is more versatile after competing in Vancouver. He’s had that much longer than Bittle to build up his stamina for the 3000.

Jack doesn’t set a new world record. He doesn’t even place first until his third heat, but he makes it through to the semifinals of the 3000m and races against Kent for the first time since they were kids.

Kent’s a five-time medalist with three golds, but Jack holds his own and pulls through to the finals. He’s got an edge here; Kent’s faster, but Jack knows his tells when he’s starting to flag. By their twentieth lap in the final, Jack’s overtaken him. Parson skates the way Jack lives—his moves are controlled and precise. 

On the other hand, Kent taught Jack how to give without holding anything in reserve, even if it’s only on the ice.

Jack sweeps ahead of Kent and the two South Korean skaters on the far ends of the lines, and he wins his first gold. Parson claps him on the shoulder, but Jack can’t look away from the stands. Bittle beams at him amid a crowd of red, white, and blue. All his teammates are celebrating Kent’s medal, but the beatific grin is aimed high up and too far to Parson’s left to be for anyone but Jack.

There’s no way he’ll find his parents in the crowd, and team Canada is behind him, so it’s only natural to smile back at Eric.

 ** __**

#  ** _Heat 2_**

  
Bittle smells like vanilla. Not the fake, cloying artificial scent of perfume or the candles his father inevitably gets his mother for Christmas, but like a homemade cake after it’s been in the oven for a few minutes.

The frozen tip of his button nose traces the hollow of Jack’s cheek, and his fingers curl around the hand Jack has left hanging haplessly at his own side.

Eric wiggles a finger into the space between each of Jack’s, each one as chilly as his nose from the brief walk to the Canadian dorms. He squeezes their palms together as he runs his cool lips up Jack’s jaw to the shell of his ear and whispers, “This okay?”

He tucks his forehead into Bittle’s neck and winds his free hand around Eric’s back, where the Russian air has clung to the fabric of his anorak.

“This is really good.”

Jack ignites when Bittle’s knuckles stroke his jaw and his open-mouthed breaths evaporate against Jack’s lips.

 ** __**

#  ** _Heat 3_**

  
Jack qualifies first for the 1500m, beating Kent by a few hundredths of a second in every consecutive heat. Kent qualifies, too, but it’s behind Jack. Justin Oluransi is knocked out in a semifinal by one of China’s newer skaters. 

Christopher Chow is a dual citizen—he could have joined team USA or team China. A reasonable person would have seen Parson and Bittle and done whatever it took not to compete against them, but Chow opted to skate for China instead.

No one expects Eric to do as well as he does for such a long race. Jack hadn’t even known he’d be in another event aside from the relay until Eric had told him the other night in a timid rush that he couldn’t wish Jack a lot of luck, but he’d at least wish him onto the podium.

He doesn’t set any records this time, but he clinches his spot in the finals. He slices through the crowds of skaters, including a German named Birkholtz who’s at least twice Bittle’s size, with reckless maneuvers that he only pulls off through his low center of gravity. Jack’s seen Kent Parson fall more times than he can count trying the same tricks.

When they announce the finalists for the men’s 1500 meter, team USA is in an uproar. In ascending order, they’re Chow, Eric, Kent, and Jack going into the event, and the assurance of at least one more medal has the Americans so rowdy that Jack’s worried Eric will get crushed in the shuffle.

The press descends on Jack first. When he left the Q at sixteen and took up speed skating instead, they’d left him alone for a while. Even as an Olympic prospect, his new event didn’t sell as many tabloids as four-time Stanley Cup winner, Bob Zimmermann’s son following in his father’s footsteps.

That was before the overdose, though. Washed up before he’d even carved up the track.

Now, he’s a train wreck past his prime. If he wins, his story could be worth documenting.

He’s had enough experience with reporters through both his parents that he hardly remembers what he’s asked or how he answers. He knows he only smiles twice while a camera was on him—first when Justin lifts one of the team managers, named Larissa, onto his shoulders so she’s tall enough to empty her bottle of water over his head; second when Eric catches him toweling off between interviews.

Later, in Jack’s dorm, Bittle’s streaming the news coverage on his computer and telling truncated childhood stories while the wifi buffers.

“—and if it were the summer, it woulda been hell, because they shut off the AC after five o’clock. It was January, though. Or February maybe? So, it was practically a sauna compared to Sochi. I kept plenty warm with my sweater until the janitor came in the next morning to get a mop.”

His back is already curled into Jack, but Jack lines up every plane of his front that isn’t already touching Eric and squeezes in closer.

“What happened to them?” he asks of kids who’d stuffed Eric in the closet overnight in the first place.

He cranes his head back to peck Jack’s nose and tuts, “Hopefully their consciences got the best of them sooner or later. They were on the football team, and I didn’t wanna make Coach choose between me and them.”

“He’d choose you,” Jack assures him, whispering behind Eric’s ear.

“I know that now, but—“ the stream cuts back in, and Jack fights a groan.

_“In short track speed skating, it’s a clash of the titans. World Champion Kent Parson and his longtime peer Jack Zimmermann have been neck-and-neck thus far, silencing many of the voices questioning Zimmermann’s readiness to return. Crowd favorites Christopher Chow and Eric Bittle will also compete tomorrow; a rare matchup of three first-time Olympians against a seasoned veteran._

_Already decorated in Sochi, Bittle, Zimmermann, and Parson are the favorites to place. Parson’s experience and finesse give him an advantage, but the Zimmermann-Bittle contest is more difficult to forecast. In the battle of Wunderkind versus Comeback Kid, we’ll have to wait and see.”_

**__**

# **_Heat 4_**

  
There aren’t many worse times for Kent Parson to barge into Jack’s dorm than while Eric’s shirtless astride him, chest and back rosy with exertion, head lolled back and hands braced against Jack’s shoulders.

“Well isn’t this fuckin’ familiar,” Kent guffaws, letting himself in.

All in one moment, Eric tumbles onto his side, shrieking, “Kent, what in the hell—“ and Jack barks, “Get the fuck out, Kenny.”

He grasps for the sheets at the foot of his bed and pools them so he and Bittle are covered.

“Are we really pretending I haven’t already seen both of you bare ass naked already? That sounds boring.” 

Jack considers the legal ramifications of murder in the Olympic village.

“Hey, I’ve been in Bittle’s _exact position_ a handful of times myself, sans boxers. He’s pretty lucky, considering.”

Eric’s hand gropes spasmodically under the sheet for Jack’s until Jack has no choice but to hold him steady or risk injury. He makes every effort to meet Bitty’s bewildered eyes.

“Eric, you’ve met Kent? My ex?”

“Dude’s my teammate. Shouldn’t I be making the introductions here? Bittle, you’ve fucked Jack? _My ex?_ ”

Parson’s smirk sets Jack’s teeth grinding, and it’s all he can do not to crush Eric’s hand in his grip. Kent’s always been immune to Jack’s withering glare, but he tries again for lack of a better idea.

“It’s great to see you, Parse, but I’m busy cavorting with the enemy right now. I’ll talk to you later, before the race.” Bittle’s impressively level, and only the pout of his lower lip betrays his frustration. All things considered, a pout isn’t an unattractive way for Eric’s jealousy to manifest, if that’s what it is.

Kent snickers and removes his cap to ruffle his bedhead. “Nice try, kid. I’m here because Bobby and Alicia want to do brunch, and someone wasn’t answering his cell.”

“Oh, no.”

On his nightstand, the global phone he’s been using this month shows he’s missed three calls.

“Jack?”

The unique terror of knowing your mother has left three unanswered voicemails ebbs a little when Eric hooks his chin over Jack’s shoulder.

Struck dumb by the warmth of Bittle’s pulse against his skin, Jack asks, “Would you like to meet my parents?”

 ** __**

#  ** _Heat 5_**

  
The commentators were right. Chow finishes fourth, just behind Kent.

Jack wins his second gold, and Eric wins a silver to join the gold from his sprint.

Chris is a friend of Bittle’s—they had the same trainer, and they’re close in age—and when he hugs Eric in congratulations, tears in his eyes and a smile on his face, Jack’s tight chest swells a little more.

Kent lifts Eric around the waist and spins him until the rest of their team crowd too close for him to keep going. Parse only spares a single wink in Canada’s direction before he gets back to celebrating.

Through the haze of interviews and congratulations, dogpiles and sloppy kisses from Larissa, Justin, and a very confused American with long coppery hair and a full moustache, Jack floats on. He makes it to the podium through some sort of organizer witchcraft, and nearly trips ascending to the center pillar.

If Eric hadn’t been there to steady him as they shook hands, he’d probably have toppled over.

“Yo, Jack.” Kent elbows him while the crowd roars.

“Kent, shut up.”

“I have an idea.”

Glaring, Jack dips his head to his left long enough quell Kent’s Bad Idea before he turns to his right.

“Congratulations, Eric,” he murmurs. The first time he said it was tradition, but he needs to say it for himself.

Bittle’s weeping, and Jack wants to collect him in his arms and hold him there in front of the entire world.

“If I had to lose to anyone, I’m glad it was you.” His teasing would have been more effective if he weren’t wiping at his eyes with his sleeves, but he’s glowing with pride. “This is the best day of my life, Jack.”

Jack doesn’t disagree.

Then, Kent grabs his hand.

“Kenny, what—“

“ _I_ am making a political statement about The Gays. _You_ should hold your boyfriend’s hand while you’re being decorated together at the goddamn Olympics and I’m being generous enough to provide a cover.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice; Eric’s palm scorches his own, and he savors the heat. 


End file.
